The LGBTQ+ Outlook: Why Positive LGBTQ+ Narratives Matter

Things aren’t perfect but they’re not all bad either. It’s time we embrace positive LGBTQ+ narratives.

When I was a gay kid in the 80s and 90s struggling with my identity, ashamed of my sexuality and “feminine” tendencies, frantically trying to find ways to conceal and protect myself, I believed that being gay was the worst fate imaginable. I no longer feel this way, but I am still grappling with the aftershock of these early negative beliefs. I have to remind myself that life can be good, that I can be seen and loved and that it is possible for a gay man like me to be successful and happy. After all, so many incredible things have happened for me and I have so much to be grateful for.

As a member of the queer community who is passionate about uplifting and empowering said community, I have spent a lot of time addressing the stigma, challenges and prejudices we face. Speaking to these topics is important, but I have come to realise that my contribution to our collective narrative may be unbalanced and not as encouraging and empowering as it could be. Why? Well, I’ve focused more on the struggles and less on positive LGBTQ+ narratives.

It reminded me of a quote by Fred Rogers (a pioneering and celebrated children’s television personality): “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping’.”

I love this idea and during tough times, I always try to look for the “helpers”, the potential good in a situation, but the darker aspects of life still manage to pull more of my focus than the light. It’s a survival technique.

Gloomy gay goggles vs rose coloured pink specs

To illustrate my bias, I’ll share a recent example: a previous article I wrote for MambaOnline was a mental health cheat sheet, a resource for men who have sex with men (MSM), inspired by the insight that MSM are particularly vulnerable to mental health challenges, loneliness, depression, substance abuse and suicidal ideation.

What I failed to mention in the article is that there are many MSM who live balanced and fulfilled lives who maintain and invest in their physical and mental health and despite their challenges are thriving. I realised, as I was researching this article, that I didn’t make enough mention of the fact that things really can be better. If others are thriving we should celebrate this.

Why is this important? Because we need t to know that this is possible. That if there are people out there living their best lives that this may be a possibility for someone who is currently struggling. Something to strive for. Something to hope for.

I’m inspired by It Gets Better, which is an LGBTQ+ non-profit organisation that has established its mission to “uplift, empower, and connect lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer youth around the globe.”

It can be a mind-blowing shift in consciousness to comprehend and then internalise that LGBTQ+ people can be happy, healthy and successful, enjoying lives brimming with laughter and love. I feel like we need to get that message out there more. However, not at the expense of turning a blind eye to the challenges we face. Not toxic or delusional positivity, but more of a balance.

When sad stories tip the scales

As a child, the gay characters I saw on TV, in film, on stage and even some of the books that I read were often portrayed as either victims or larger than life caricatures. Two extremes with very little nuance and deviation in-between.

Films like Philadelphia, And The Band Played On, Love! Valour! Compassion!, Torch Song Trilogy and Brokeback Mountain; plays and musicals like The Normal Heart and Rent! and series’ like Angels In America, all told powerful and important stories, but they all seemed to paint the same disturbing image of the gay man’s fate. These prolific narratives led me to assume that I was instore for a life of suffering, rejection and victimisation or a tragic early death if I didn’t manage to deny or suppress my sexuality. I was terrified, lonely and miserable.

On the other end of the gay story schtick, the narratives in The Birdcage, Will & Grace and Ellen seemed to indicate I would only be acceptable if I was extremely entertaining, larger than life, flamboyant and self-deprecating. I needed to speak in one-liners and I almost managed to condition myself to be a walking one-man show – it was exhausting! I loved these characters and their stories but they seemed as realistic and attainable to me as being a Disney Princess. They didn’t feel like real people.

Why Positive LGBTQ+ narratives natter

As queer stories and representation in the media evolved, that changed. Series like Looking, Please Like Me, Pose and Heartstopper made a huge difference. Films like Call Me By Your Name and Shelter felt more relatable and the characters more human and complex. I feel better represented and it’s helped me to feel more optimistic about my lot in life.

I wish I could go back and tell junior me how awesome life would become for me.

In her show, Nanette, lesbian stand-up comedian, Hannah Gadsby shares a powerful insight regarding the problematic role self-deprecation has played in the “acceptance” of queer identities in society: “Do you understand what self-deprecation means when it comes from someone who is already in the margins? It’s not humility. It’s humiliation.”

I still sometimes forget that I don’t need to play the fool to be loved and accepted. We don’t have to put ourselves down to make others more comfortable with our uniqueness, we can speak lovingly and positively about ourselves and not downplay our power and potency. No need to dim our disco lights to make others feel more comfortable. Many of today’s queer youth seems to be better at defying this pressure to play less-than, and their unapologetic courage is both humbling and inspiring.

The impact of negativity bias

We shouldn’t bury our heads in the sand like queer ostriches and ignore the threats and prejudices that compromise our rights, but we also need to pay attention to positive LGBTQ+ narratives and experiences  in order to prevent a negativity bias.

Experts like Psychologist Catherine Moore explain that “This negativity bias can influence how we feel, think, and act, and can have some less-than-desirable effects on our psychological state.”

Life isn’t all bad and believing that it is may be detrimental and disempowering, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Obviously, life isn’t all a Gaga concert either, it’s a spectrum, and queer people more than most should appreciate a spectrum between two polarities. Both eyes need to be open.

Seeing the silver/rainbow lining isn’t always easy

If you have a basic grasp of queer history, you would be aware of the revolutionary and awe-inspiring role Marsha P. Johnson played in our collective advancement as a community. Marsha was an indomitable LGBTQ+ and HIV activist and an outspoken advocate for gay liberation and sex worker rights.

Most notably, she is celebrated for being a prominent figure at the Stonewall uprising of 1969, an event widely considered to be instrumental in the queer liberation movement around the world.

It saddens me to think that even right now, in 2024, a poor, outspoken, gender-nonconforming person of colour known to be associated with sex work and HIV activism would still face prejudice, and due to prevailing bigotry, likely from both the LGBTQ+ community, as well as from society at large. I can’t even imagine how much more difficult life must have been for her back in the 60s. What she managed to achieve is nothing short of astounding.

This is what makes Marsha such a remarkable icon for our people. Despite appearing to have every reason to doubt herself and see herself as a hapless victim, she instead demonstrated moral fibre and a spirit of humanitarianism that changed history.

The global LGBTQ+ community has in recent years begun to honour Marsha as the fearless trailblazer that she was, and rightly so. She deserves all the recognition and gratitude we can muster. However, many people don’t know about Marsha’s tragic end. Marsha’s story is complex and multifaceted and there are a number of ways one could choose to see it.

Marsha’s body was discovered floating in the Hudson River on the 6th of July 1992 with a large wound in the back of her head. The police ruled her death a suicide, but many of her friends believed she’d been the victim of foul play. Incidentally, that year (1992) was the worst year on record for anti-LGBTQ violence at the time, according to the New York Anti-Violence Project.

How should we see Marsha’s story? That of a tragic hero defined by the way her story ended? Or that of an extraordinary life lived as a beacon of hope and stupendous courage in the face of ruthless adversity. I suggest a bittersweet combination of the two.

You are the story you tell yourself

There is no denying that the LGBTQ+ community faces many challenges, but labelling ourselves as long-suffering victims won’t do us any favours either. It’s one thing to become aware of how society may be victimising us but quite a different thing to indefinitely label ourselves and identify as victims. Words have power and I feel like this particular word, victim, is dangerous when used chronically as a noun, like the opposite of an affirmation. I don’t want to see myself that way.

Interestingly, developing medical naming conventions already take into account the importance of this type of labelling distinction. We no longer refer to a person as a “diabetic”, “alcoholic”, “bipolar” or refer to anyone as an “HIV sufferer”.

These terms are dated and inappropriate because they contribute to stigma. We now refer to someone who has been tested and received an HIV-positive test result as a person living with HIV, without the limiting presumption that this will be a life of “suffering”.

There are many people living with HIV who are flourishing and vibrantly healthy. We now talk about people living with substance abuse disorder, living with bipolar disorder or living with diabetes. This adjusted phrasing allows us to see the individual as a person first and not to define them by these conditions and challenges quite as much. Being labelled can be limiting.

Success, good fortune, love, community and well-being can also be a part of our birth right. We have agency. We can and do change things.

Our community has already moved innumerable mountain ranges.

Consciously or subconsciously we are always telling a story. We tell ourselves stories of who we are and how the world is. What we are capable of and what we believe may be unobtainable for us. Henry Ford said, “Whether you think you can, or you think you can’t–you’re right.” You decide if that rings true for you.

The queer identity conundrum

Marsha’s story, like so many things in life, is not so cut and dried. It has many sides because it is complex and multifaceted. To reduce it to a tragic story would undermine her triumphant spirit, what she achieved against the odds. Yet, we would be equally remiss to turn our heads away from the image of her battered and lifeless body left adrift in a world that showed her very little mercy.

Depending on what I choose to focus on, Marsha’s story can either inspire me or plunge me into the depths of despair. I wonder what she would have preferred?

There is no doubt that Marsha was victimised, but I just can’t bring myself to label her a victim. All things considered, positive and negative, I tend to see her as a champion of the people, and I choose to take courage and strength from her.

I’m reminded of Ho’oponopono. It is an ancient Hawaiian philosophy of reconciliation and forgiveness that is practiced to heal and transform individuals and communities. It sums up what I wish I could say to Marsha P. Johnson.

“I am sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you.”

 

Bruce J. Little is a journalist, copywriter and playwright from Johannesburg.